


Restoration

by Aurumite



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Angst, Courtly Love, Multi, One-Sided Love, Sibling Bonding, Tags to be added as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6321304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurumite/pseuds/Aurumite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of tiny Magvel ficlets, usually revolving around Eirika. Most prompted, some impromptu. </p><p>#13, River: Knoll, Lyon, an ancient tome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beloved Daughters - Eirika/L'Arachel

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I have a ton of Magvel snippets lying around on Tumblr and such and I just wanted to gather all my writings together into one place. I get really antsy otherwise. Indulge me. 
> 
> This one was a little giftlet for merewiowing, because busy weeks + femslash feb = pretty ladies visiting each other after devastating wars to re-grow together.

“Tell me of your father.”

It’s not a request. L'Arachel has scarcely begun her tour of Castle Renais but now she plants herself, slim and hard as a young oak, in her tracks. Eirika follows her gaze to the painting of King Fado astride his destrier, gilded sword at his hip and spotted hounds at his feet. Long before his death, he’d taken his place with his forefathers in the great hall. L'Arachel stares at his hands on the reins while her own fingers curl into her pale skirts.

Eirika pauses to collect her thoughts. The memories are still painful, little stones rolling under her heart each time it tries to step forward. She could say that Father was very tall, a splendid horseman, a lover of lively music and dance. But that isn’t what L'Arachel wants to know.

“He taught me to ride,” she says, “and he took Ephraim hunting every summer. Whenever he went into the city, he returned with sweets for me. Every night, he came to my rooms to tell me goodnight and wish me sweet dreams, no matter how busy he was. I remember sitting on his knee in the throne room when I was very small. And I remember…” A smile comes to her lips for the little gestures so easily forgotten, but her voice wavers. “He used to kiss my hands whenever I did well in my studies or otherwise pleased him. As if I were his ruler and queen, rather than he my father and king.”

“Enough.”

“Forgive me,” she says quickly. L'Arachel doesn’t even have the memories. “I’ve said too much.”

“No.” L'Arachel sounds hushed, shocked, though her eyes are still locked on Fado. “Forgive _me_. I didn’t even bother to ask if you were ready to speak of him.”

“It seems that I am.”

Eirika moves closer, arm nearly brushing L'Arachel’s as she studies the painting alongside her. The silence, first nervous and sharp-edged, fades to comfortable nothing. She reaches for L'Arachel’s hand and laces their fingers with slow deliberation.

“He would have loved you very much,” she says.

For once, L'Arachel is silent. She lifts their joined hands and holds the back of Eirika's against her cheek for a long moment. It's soft and smooth and cool and Eirika shifts to touch with her palm instead. 

“Well,” L'Arachel says, finally. Something of her unconquerable smile is back in her eyes. “Of course. How could he not love me? I am as lovable as they come. Now, then, did I not come all this way to enjoy my tour of Renais’s historic castle? Let’s not loiter.”

Eirika smiles too and does not release L'Arachel's hand as she guides her onward.


	2. First Learning - Eirika and Ephraim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirika had seen enough from Innes and Tana to know that young boys sometimes struck their sisters (and young girls, their brothers). Siblings quarreled. But Ephraim had never once raised a hand to her. 
> 
> Which was why now, with the hot pain in her side, Eirika could only stare at him, unable to connect it to his doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request was "a memory of Eirika first learning to fight."

Eirika had seen enough from Innes and Tana to know that young boys sometimes struck their sisters (and young girls, their brothers). It was light, meant to irritate and not cause true pain: a pinch, a smack across the shoulder, a one-handed shove. Siblings quarreled. But Ephraim had never once raised a hand to her. If he touched her at all it was to defend her somehow, wiping tears from her cheek with his thumb or putting a cautious hand on her arm when they walked uneven ground. When their friends once asked if they ever fought, they only exchanged a confused glance and said,  _It’s like hitting myself_ _._

Which was why now, with the hot pain in her side, Eirika could only stare at Ephraim, unable to connect it to his doing. 

It had been their first spar and he’d cut past her defenses in an instant, _laid_ into her with his dulled sword, so hard against her stomach and hip she heard a _whap!._ White flashed across her vision and her ears rang even though her head was untouched. The strike would bruise immediately into a long blue stripe. 

He’d done it to her. He’d done it on _purpose_. 

“That…that hurt!” 

Her voice came out too high, whiny as she fought to make sense of it, and a line appeared in Ephraim’s forehead. As the pain began to fade she realized through the faint tickling against her face that she was crying. 

“Look,” he said, though he lowered his sword. “I told you I wasn’t going to take it easy on you.” 

“I know, but…”  

“But nothing.” She could see in his eyes that he was sorry, but his voice was firm. “If you want to learn, this is the only way.”

He was right, and she knew it deep down. How could she fight to avoid pain or death if she had no idea what it looked like? She wiped her face but glanced back up at him, knowing she was still dewey-eyed. 

“You speak the truth. But how could you bear swinging so _hard_ at your littler sister, on her very first day?” 

Ephraim laughed, which made the corners of her mouth twitch up, too. 

“You can buy all the mercy you like from me, with a face like that, but it won’t do you any good. You’ll not be fighting brothers if you ever put these lessons to use.”  

That, too, was true. Eirika looked at the ground and wondered if she’d even be able to take another hit without fleeing or swooning. She was hardy, as hardy as he was, but this was outside anything she’d felt before. 

“We don’t have to continue,” Ephraim said, a little softly. “Battle is rough, Eirika; it’s no place for you.” 

“Plenty of women learn how to fight.” 

“I said it’s no place for _you_. Learning to do this yourself…that’s all well and good, but there’s no need for it. You have me. I’ll protect you if it ever comes to that.”

She kept her eyes on the ground, both touched and embarrassed. Ephraim was _always_ her protector, and had never failed her. Did she want to step out of the safety of his shadow? Did she want to hold her own so badly, when she had him to do it for her?

But then, what good was a sister? Couldn’t she protect anyone? What if _Ephraim_ needed protecting, someday? Eirika settled back into her stance, ignoring the flash of pain over her hip. 

“I’m not giving up,” she said. “Come for me again. If last time didn’t teach me to parry faster, nothing will.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, sword still down. 

“I’m sure.”

“It’s going to hurt worse the second time.” 

“You won’t hit me a second time.” 

Ephraim grinned, saluted, and lunged again. (He did hit her a second time. And a third. But she didn’t cry again, and the fourth, she parried away.)  


	3. Victory - Eirika and Lyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She hadn’t drawn close enough to hear Lyon’s last words. It hadn’t been her place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a prompter requesting Lyon's death.

She hadn’t drawn close enough to hear Lyon’s last words. It hadn’t been her place. She stayed frozen, Sieglinde clutched heavy in her hand, and when Ephraim returned covered in his blood she couldn’t look at him and couldn’t sheathe it.   
  
She tried to remember what secrets the three of them told each other under the stars in Grado and couldn’t. All she could recall were harsh whispers exchanged with Ephraim at ungodly hours, in his tent or hers, hands clutched so hard their knuckles buckled: _Don’t think about it, we’ll find a way, he’ll survive, we’re going to save him_.   
  
As they left the temple, she forced the corners of her lips upward to make it seem like relief had caused their trembling; she was shaking all over despite the gentle warmth of the dappled sun through the canopy. She leaned on Tana because Ephraim’s arm was still drying—

“We did it,” the soldiers were cheering. They seemed tinny in her ears, intangible as the spirits Knoll had summoned while they rushed to pack up camp, their flags and chipped, painted shields blurring into colours of every shade. She blinked hard but couldn’t focus. What would happen to her, the next time she looked up at the stars? “We did it.” 

“We did it,” said Tana softly, and Eirika buried her face in her neck. 

“Oh, gods,” she choked. “We did.”   


 


	4. Coded - Eirika and Fado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Reckless,” Father muttered over his maps. 
> 
> “Please,” Eirika begged. “Don’t be so hard on Ephraim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a prompter asking what's happening in Renais, after Ephraim disappears at the beginning of the game.

“Reckless,” Father muttered over his maps. 

They covered the round table entirely, dotted with heavy wooden men and painted horses. As a child Eirika once asked to use them as dolls, and Fado had pushed back her hair: _If only, my love._ Now he moved them with slow deliberation, using his large, calloused hands to keep the curling edges of the parchment down. It made Eirika feel safe despite the reports she’d overheard, despite the wooden clusters moving toward the capital. Father’s hands could carry anything.  
  
“Please,” she begged. “Don’t be so hard on him.” 

“Hard on him,” he repeated. “If your brother makes it back alive, I’ll thrash him myself. The crown prince of Renais does not simply disappear into the night like a coward. He does not abandon his country when they need to see his face.”

It hadn’t been hard to deduce that Ephraim’s disappearance was his own design. If he were kidnapped they would have received a demand for ransom, and if he were killed Grado’s soldiers would be chanting the news as they marched. 

“He has good reason to be gone,” Eirika insisted.

“Better than seeing to his duties? I think not.”

“He’s trying to meet with Lyon. I’m sure of it.”  

Father looked up then. Eirika held his gaze, wondering at the sharpness in his usually soft blue eyes. It was a new look, amidst the concentration and the worry. She finally placed it in a memory of the eyes of a criminal she’d seen judged in the throne room: desperation. Hope.

“He wrote you about it, then?” Father asked. “Ah, that makes sense. That makes perfect sense. He could write absolute nonsense on a page and _you_ would understand it. Send an unmarked message to a general and it’s guaranteed to be intercepted, but to a simple handmaiden, perhaps, one who knows where to slip letters to her lady–”

“Father.”

The word tumbled out of her throat at barely a whisper. Her eyes stung and she dropped her gaze, remembering the way Ephraim smiled the last time she’d seen him. He had a good smile, warmth and easy reassurance in a flash of straight teeth. It hadn’t even occurred to her then that it might be the last she saw.  

“Father…he didn’t write me. I just…it’s my hunch.”

Father’s face didn’t fall so much as it calmed. He looked away.

“Reckless,” he said again to his maps. He began to move the wooden horses. Eirika understood little of tactics, but he seemed to want a clear path to Frelia, and his huge shoulders rose to his ears the longer he went without finding it. 

She watched him for a long time, wanting to reach for him, knowing he felt as betrayed and as worried as she did. In the end she was too ashamed of the tears on her cheeks, and excused herself to go to the chapel and pray, as a proper lady should during such times.


	5. Homecoming - Eirika

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homecoming: Since the night she’d fled Renais, Eirika had a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompter requested "coming home to Renais after the war."

Since the night she’d fled Renais, Eirika had a plan: become a skilled warrior, reclaim her kingdom, and then—when it was over, and not a moment before—lock herself in her room and sob for hours. 

But for a single time, after Renais’s stone shattered and Ephraim gave permission, Eirika did not cry during the months of their campaign. It wasn’t proper. It was weak, with the army watching her. She would save all her tears for a time of peace and mourn everything then, though the list grew and grew: Father, wise Emperor Vigarde, Orson, Queen Ismaire, Glen and Cormag, noble Selena. For the face Tana made when she told Eirika of Gheb, the moment Joshua beheld his dying mother, the wound Seth still winced against, the innocents she hadn’t been able to save, the earthquake waiting for Grado. And then she’d cry for Lyon, and again for Ephraim, who needed it more.

Tears pricked her eyes already when they rode into the capital, as people cheered and tossed wildflowers and reached for their hands. She kept her swimming gaze on the castle and chanted her plan to herself: _Not yet. You must get inside, first. You must lock the door._

Her room, of course, had been one of the first targets for thieves. Gone were her porcelain dolls with real hair, most of her clothes and all of her jewellery, and even the thick blanket stuffed with feathers had been ripped from her bed. The things that remained seemed strange without the rest: a half-empty bottle of perfume and the little romances on her bottom shelf. 

Eirika shut the door and locked it. She sat on the edge of her bed. For some reason it felt like it would be too draining to throw herself across it, as she’d imagined she would. 

_It’s over. No one will see me here. I can cry for them all, now. I can even cry for myself._

But she couldn’t. She sat there and she stared at the wall until she didn't see it any longer, after darkness had fallen completely. 

It wasn’t hunger pangs for a missed dinner that made her rise, nor concern that she’d sat lost in her head for hours, for she felt neither. Rather, it was the question of whether soaking the crowns in alcohol would damage the metal somehow. They remained, which meant Orson had kept them well, which meant they’d need to be scoured. The coronation was soon. 


	6. Thrust - Eirika and Valter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #6, Thrust: “Who mastered whom?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a prompter requesting an encounter with Valter. 
> 
> Warning for blood and implied sexual assault because *gestures at the above*

“Who mastered whom? Who mastered _whom?_ ” 

Eirika hated killing but couldn't stop the plunge of her sword; it wasn’t enough to be sure he was beaten and she stabbed him again and again and _again_ until he _splattered_ , spitting back the blood in her mouth, for his blood surely carried some  _disease_ _—_ She struggled against the arm that wrapped around her waist and dragged her away.

“Princess. He’s long dead. Cease this.” Seth’s voice was stern in her ear. 

Chest heaving, she surveyed the corpse. Dead indeed. Riddled with wounds. She should’ve felt ashamed, but the fight had been so _long:_  woman against wyvern until she tore the beast’s wing, then hastily-trained princess against veteran general. And Valter hadn’t been eager to let the fight end too quickly. His idea of close combat was the closest she’d encountered. 

“How could you, of all people, scold me for this?” she asked. “I wanted justice for your wound.” 

“It’s healing.” 

“I wanted justice for my father.” 

Seth was silent at that. His arm slipped away and Eirika felt glad for it, felt her skin crawl. She wanted to scrub herself raw. 

“He touched me,” she rasped, and only realized then how badly she was shaking. “When we were grappling. If I’d lost this fight—” 

“You won. He’s dead.”

She’d won. But just in case, she stabbed the body again, ignoring Seth’s wince. 

\---

Weeks later, as the war drew to a close, Ephraim admitted to her that he enjoyed fighting, claiming the deaths of his opponents.

“You would disdain me for this?” he asked without looking at her. 

And it flooded back, the exhilaration she’d felt finding an opening, the almost sweet ease of her rapier between his ribs, the thrill of taking away his power over her, the one and only time she’d ever understood war. 

“No,” she said back to her brother, quietly. “I could never.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two lines of dialogue are taken from the twins' A support.


	7. Once Long Ago - Eirika and Glen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “General Glen, at your service.” 
> 
> He got down on one knee to kiss her hand, putting himself at eye level. Eirika thought he looked like a knight out of a storybook: clean-shaven and sharp-eyed and golden-haired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request was just "anything from eirika's canon" so I figured I'd explore what happens the time she and Glen became acquainted, since they clearly make strong impressions on each other.

As midmorning brightened to noon, Eirika had to admit to herself that she’d gotten lost in the Keep. 

She clutched her doll closer but continued to walk. Lessons had been cancelled that morning. Lyon was too sick to get out of bed, she’d heard, and Ephraim had been summoned to General Duessel’s side for additional training. He was such a quick study that his usual sessions weren’t enough. They’d both stayed up late with Lyon in his rooms the night before (and she regretted allowing it; how had she missed the slight rasp in his voice?), but she couldn’t find the rooms now. She'd journeyed there and back in the dark, and she’d had Ephraim with her then. Everything looked different, alone in the daylight. 

“Milady.” 

The voice was calm but sudden, so Eirika whirled. A tall man in a red surcoat was walking toward her. 

“Forgive my presumption,” he said, “but children do not often walk this part of the Keep. You’re close to the barracks. Are you lost?” 

“A little,” she confessed.

“General Glen, at your service.” 

He got down on one knee to kiss her hand, putting himself at eye level. Eirika thought he looked like a knight out of a storybook: clean-shaven and sharp-eyed and golden-haired. 

“You seem very young to be a general,” she said. 

“I only received the promotion this year.” 

“Ah! Congratulations!” 

“Thank you.” His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “May I help you get to where you need to be?” 

“I was hoping to find Lyon,” she confessed. “I heard he was sick today, so I thought I would visit him. I can show him the doll I brought with me.”

She’d had notions of them playing with it, but as she looked at Glen a memory surfaced: Lyon sitting by the ring, coughing, chest heaving as Ephraim continued their lessons with Duessel alone. His fingers trembled around the sword in his lap. When Eirika sat beside him, hoping to cheer him on, he called himself _girlish_ like it was the name of a dark hex and refused to look at her. Now she refused to look at Glen, casting her glance to the floor instead. 

“Er…perhaps he won’t be interested, though. It was a silly idea.” 

“I think she’s lovely.” 

Eirika looked up but found only sincerity in Glen’s eyes. He asked “May I?” and she handed her over. He took her gently, almost tenderly, touched her dark hair and the curve of her porcelain cheek like she was a child of his own before he handed her back. 

“Yes, she’s wonderful,” he affirmed. “You should show her to him. Here, I’ll lead you to his rooms.”

He stood and extended a hand and she took it, cheeks warming. 

“Do you have a little sister?” she asked as they began to walk. How else would he know how to appreciate a pretty doll? But he shook his head and answered, 

“A little brother. Cormag.” 

They talked about brothers until Eirika began to recognize her surroundings again by the colours of the mosaics on the walls, flashes of gold and lapis lazuli much brighter and sharper than they had been by torchlight last night. When they finally came to the thick oak doors of Lyon’s room she nodded to herself. Of course she’d walked right by them, this morning. They were shut now, when they had been open the night before, hiding off the messy bed and stacks of books she’d been keeping her eyes peeled for. She was surprised out of her thoughts when Glen knelt and took her hand again. 

“Sir?” 

“Prince Lyon is lucky to have such a friend,” he said. “You only met a few days ago, did you not, and already you come to cheer him while he’s ill. I hope you and Prince Ephraim will always treat him so kindly, for I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been these past few days.”

“Of course,” Eirika promised. Poor Lyon; he’d been so lonely that even Glen was concerned on his behalf. 

“Enjoy your visit, Princess.” 

“Thank you for your help, General.” 

* * *

Years later, she learned of his death from Cormag. She couldn’t pretend to understand his rage or his anguish, not with her brother still alive and well, but she too felt personally betrayed by what had happened. 

“He was a good man,” she told Cormag that night by the fire, after he’d returned from cooling his heels. “I’ve many reasons to end Valter myself, but if I get to him before you, I promise I’ll put my sword through him once for Glen.” 

Cormag barked a bitter laugh. “You’re certainly not the woman he said you were. He called you gentle.” 

_Prince Lyon is lucky to have such a friend. I hope you and Prince Ephraim will always treat him so kindly._

Eirika murmured, “Perhaps I’ve changed.”


	8. Curse - Ephraim/Kyle, Ephraim/Lyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #7, Curse: Lyon’s death marked Ephraim like the scars of dark magic, and Kyle is no healer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A two-fold prompt: Broadly, "Curse," for rarepair week. Specifically, "Post-game Ephraim/Kyle with Ephraim still not quite over Lyon."

Ephraim is awake. 

It’s nothing new, despite his efforts. Kyle has seen, when Ephraim thinks he’s asleep or occupied. The king of Renais leaves his room before dawn, spars and trains until he gasps for breath and sweat drips from his hair, scrubs his skin red when he bathes, walks briskly, wolfs his meals, curls his free hand into a fist when he sits down over a desk heavy with paperwork. Ephraim is always -  _ much _ . Kyle has tried to think of a proper word for years now, but that’s all he’s ever been able to come up with. Ephraim is so very much. 

“The hour is late, my lord.” 

He announces his presence at the door and Ephraim looks up from his desk. A single candle burns, making Kyle wonder if the taut exhaustion in Ephraim’s eyes softens to see him or if it’s just imagination. A silent order:  _ Close the door. _ Kyle obeys. 

“I’ll dream of him,” Ephraim says.

“Shall I bring you a draught?” Kyle asks, but it’s only a formality. Ephraim hates medicines and herbal aids; he calls it cheating. He flexes the fingers of his right hand and says he should be stronger than that. 

Kyle himself is usually the only offer Ephraim will accept. He blows the candle out and devotes himself to servicing in the darkness, as he swore to do so long ago. 

\---

“The court is not a battlefield, Your Majesty.” 

Ephraim’s council is bickering again; Kyle can hear it through the door as he stands guard. They are good men, Kyle thinks, but a restoration is complicated, and no issue is ever completely agreed upon. They are loyal to their king but they remind him at every turn that he is hot-tempered and inexperienced and - not the man his father was, is what he hears in the breaths between their words, not a man who keeps his friends. 

“No,” Ephraim said to Kyle one night after he was coaxed into bed, head in Kyle’s lap, letting his hair be stroked as he used to do for Eirika. “I kill mine.” 

Kyle remembers Ephraim in battle. His blue eyes blazed with his passion, with how  _ much  _ he was. His cheeks flushed and his hair tangled like a portent of their moments now, the mornings Ephraim wakes from his nightmares and reaches for Kyle to make himself forget. His hands were strong and sure over his lance. Even blood looked good on him: fierce, righteous, sincere. His very smile was a rallying cry that set Kyle's heart beating like a drum in his chest, eager to lay down his life for this man he called his liege.

Ephraim doesn't smile that way anymore.

\---

“He said he always hated me,” Ephraim confides that night. 

He hasn’t permitted Kyle to touch him, but Kyle still lies at his side, because Ephraim didn’t tell him to go, and Kyle will never leave him of his own volition. The crescent moon sends a weak beam of light through the crack in the curtains, and it cuts over Ephraim’s face like a thin scar.

Kyle can’t imagine anything detestable about him. Ephraim charged into enemy territory to help a friend. Ephraim took in a slave girl with mottled, monstrous wings and called her “sister.” Ephraim tried to talk down General Selena and fought her in a fair duel when she refused; gave her the death of a proper knight. Ephraim put his spear through the man he loved most for the fate of the continent, for the people of Renais, who looked to him for their future; for the people of Frelia, so many of whom he now owed a debt to; for the people of Grado, who loathed him. He was praised and lauded and crowned with flowers and with gold, but no one addressed the real act of courage he had committed, the sacrifice so noble and so cruel that even his own twin sister can not look him in the eyes, these days. 

_ He hated you but he is gone,  _ Kyle wants to say, wants more than anything.  _ I am here and I love you. I loved you then. I will love you tomorrow -- despite everything. _

As always, he holds his tongue. Ephraim will not believe it.


	9. Reliable - Eirika and Selena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #9, Reliable: "We must look out for each other, in this world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the following prompt: "Eirika watches Grado's soldiers training and practices some of their techniques when she's alone. Not just to learn to protect herself, but to know what soldiers went through. (Whether you want to include Lyon, Ephraim, Duessel, or even Glen or some other Grado soldier is up to you.)"

Eirika went to watch the soldiers train under the guise of supporting Ephraim – and though it was true, in its own way, it wasn’t complete. For the entire session, she watched and memorized: how many push-ups, how many laps, how many drills. Then she walked to the edge of the hunting grounds, where she knew she’d be alone, and began it for herself. 

She managed the running with no issue, but she couldn’t sit against a tree as long as the soldiers had against a wall. Though she breathed deep through her nose and counted evenly, her legs shook and then gave before she reached three minutes. The same happened with her arms before she reached thirty push-ups. 

With a sigh, she sank into her stance and began the footwork exercises Ephraim taught her, though her entire body now ached in protest. This was the way it had to be. Ephraim was giving her self-defense and a sport. It wasn’t enough. She needed the offensive side, the strength and endurance required for multiple onslaughts, the way real warriors lived their lives. It was the only way to become strong enough for Ephraim to rely on, since he was already so strong on his own.  

“May I offer some advice?” 

Eirika gasped at the sudden voice, mortified. She looked up through sweat-soaked bangs and found a young woman approaching her: beautiful, with thick blonde hair short enough to fit under a helmet and a breastplate custom-made to protect a heavy bosom. Eirika could still fit in an old breastplate of Ephraim’s. She clutched her practice sword as the woman approached and answered, 

“I’d greatly appreciate it.” 

“Your spine is not straight.” 

“It isn’t?” 

Eirika had thought she’d been doing a good job. Ephraim told her to imagine a thread coming from the top of her head and pulling her as tall as she could go, and she’d been following his advice without pause. 

“Who is teaching you?” the woman asked. “A man, no doubt?” 

“How did you know that?” 

The woman approached and reached out, head cocked in a silent request for permission. Eirika nodded and lowered back into her stance. The woman touched her hips and tilted them forward, and Eirika almost lurched as her balance shifted. 

“Your hips are a different shape from your teacher’s, and they cause your back to sway more than his. Keep them tucked under you, or you will injure yourself over time.” 

That made perfect sense. Eirika tried a few paces, until the woman nodded and she straightened again. 

“Thank you,” Eirika said, touched. 

“Not at all. We must look out for each other, in this world.” 

Women watching over women. Sisters watching over brothers. Eirika watched the soldier go, captivated by the wind pulling at strands of her golden hair, and only realized afterward that she never asked for her name. 


	10. Burning - Eirika/Seth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #10, Burning: Seth and Eirika attend Orson and Monica's cremation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt requesting Seth/Eirika.

Prince Ephraim had told Eirika to stay away, but she comes to the fire in the scored courtyard regardless. She stands unflinching at Seth’s side and the hair on the back of his neck rises when he realizes he can reach out and touch her: take her hand, steer her back inside by the shoulder. 

He’d met Monica. He’d been to Orson’s manor for dinner on many occasions, and she had served them wine and played the harp when they were finished. She was soft-spoken, with lively eyes and long, thick hair. What’s left of her pops and crumbles in the flames. Ephraim and Kyle throw Orson’s corpse into them next, and as they had in life, the bodies burn together. 

“I’m sorry,” Eirika says. “I know that he was important to you.” 

Important. Orson had been a _paragon_ , his model in all things. Devoted to king, country, the common man, and his family. In the past Seth had adored such overflowing loyalty, so mighty and so eternal that Orson could pledge himself to every worthy cause without tiring. 

But now he understands the truth. One can not devote oneself to everything. Eventually, one will have to choose. And because people are selfish and weak – Seth is selfish and weak – they will make the evil choice. 

He looks at Eirika and regards her fully: her sympathetic eyes, the firelight gentling against the curve of her cheek, her bow-shaped lips parted in surprise at the bold eye contact. 

“I thought we had reached an agreement when we spoke last,” he tells her, “to stop speaking as friends.” 

“I would offer my condolences to any soldier.” 

“There are many here,” Seth says with a nod to his comrades gathered around Ephraim, speaking to him of restoration. “Why don’t you go off and do so.” 

It’s not a suggestion. He can feel her eyes harden as she looks at him, but he ignores her presence and turns his gaze back to the fire.


	11. Rescue - Innes/Vanessa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Innes/Vanessa following his rescue in Carcino.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt in the summary.
> 
> I wasn't super happy with this but a friend told me they keep rereading it so, eh. Into the collection it goes.

“My lord.” 

She doesn’t wait for admission; she  _can’t_. Vanessa bursts into his tent that evening and finds Innes prowling circles around the center pole. 

“My lord, thank the gods you’re all right.” 

“Alive, but not all right.” He pauses but doesn’t look at her. Her hands fist at her hem. It’s been months and here he is, boots scuffed, hair in need of a trim, lips chapped, and as compelling as always. “I seem to have left my reputation on the battlefield.” 

“No one could have escaped alone from that predicament, my prince,” Vanessa insists. 

“Then I shouldn’t have gotten myself into it.” He waves to the door as if to brush her outside. “I’ve no desire to see anyone from Frelia until I’ve repaid my debt to Eirika. The indignity I’ve brought to our country can not stand.”

“Prince Innes–” 

“Dismissed, Vanessa.” 

“Prince Innes!” she insists, and it’s only fading adrenaline and the terror of seeing him cornered that push the insolence out of her mouth. “I will pay my respects first, Your Highness, as a vassal must!” 

And then she’s on her knees and taking his hands and once her lips are on his knuckles she can’t bring them away. She kisses once, three times, five times, ten. 

“We feared we would lose you today,” she says. “All of us: Father Moulder, Princess Tana… We could not have borne it. Please, don’t turn your face from us, my lord. We are not Frelia.  _You_  are Frelia.”

“Spoken like a mindless, short-sighted soldier.” But when Vanessa looks up, Innes is smiling: his usual smirk, but there is an uncommon softness in his eyes. He raises her up and then kisses her hand in return: just once, but nearly enough to make her choke on her next swallow.

“Perhaps I am being too proud,” he says. “If I have not fallen in  _your_  esteem, then I suppose I might as well try my luck with the others.” 

Vanessa agrees and bows and takes her leave. She feels his sharp eyes follow her out.


	12. Sisters: Tana, Vanessa, and Syrene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tana gets sisters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To fill a request for "peg knights hanging out."

Tana had flown out five miles with her knights. ( _Her knights;_  the idea foreign with Syrene and Vanessa still so much more skilled than her, and with their devotion to Innes, but it was true). They sighted no monsters, bandits, or even the unsavoury woodland creatures that roamed Magvel’s forests before the war. For once, as scouts they had nothing to report. No immediate danger.

It was a beautiful day, cool and cloudless. Tana guided her pegasus downward and Vanessa and Syrene followed. All three dismounted on a hill rich with yellow wildflowers and wordlessly agreed to take a break while they had the chance. 

They spent perhaps an hour there, Tana tickling Vanessa’s neck with flowers and making her jump, Syrene amusedly answering Tana’s questions about how to kiss without bumping noses and how to wash old blood out of her clothes: all the things she needed to know now and didn’t have Mother to ask. Syrene also gave, unprompted, a dutiful and detailed report of the men she’d seen half-dressed on the other side of the camp when she went to visit Kyle that morning. (Innes and Ephraim rarely spoke face-to-face. They used Kyle and Syrene to relay messages because “it was easier,” though if one asked Tana, she would say it was because they were both a word that Father Moulder would make her confess and give penance for.) 

“Prince Innes, of course, has the nicest shoulders and arms in the entire army,” Syrene said with a pointed look at Vanessa, who turned bright red and kicked a foot at her neatly-folded legs.

“Who cares?” she and Tana answered at the same time, and Tana sighed. 

“You both are so lucky. I wish that I had a sister.” 

“What do you call this?” Syrene asked, gesturing at the three of them, and Tana smiled more widely than she had since the day she’d run away all those weeks ago. 

“Of course. How silly of me.”   


	13. River: Knoll/Lyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13: Knoll, Lyon, an ancient tome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To fill a prompt "Knoll/Lyon getting gay over a book together or something") and for Day 6 ("Watching) of FE Rarepair Week.

“Oh! Here it is!”

Knoll looks up from his tome. Lyon is bent double over his, hair hiding his face, but he tucks it behind his delicate ear and Knoll can see the pupils of his pale eyes blown wide, his usually hollow cheeks stained pink with excitement.

“Oh, oh, this is it, oh–”

The prince struggles to make a coherent sentence, stuttering as he often does in high emotion, and Knoll stands and makes his way to him. He sets a hand on the back of Lyon’s chair, almost close enough to feel the warmth of him through his light summer robes.

The arcane library is aboveground, as torches and candles can not be trusted so close to such venerable works, and sunlight bursts through the stained glass windows in violent scarlet and bright yellow and the blue of the ocean – but it’s nothing compared to Lyon’s face as he turns to Knoll, one long finger marking a line on his page. He’s smiling, and when he smiles, he does not look ill or tired.

“The first mention of the river of time,” Lyon says, breathless. “I’ve found it.”

Knoll feels his lips part while he watches Lyon’s. “Your Highness, this is incredible. Congratulations.”

“Not yet.” Lyon turns from him and once more he is completely gone, hair falling back into his face, caring for nothing but the ancient script beneath him. “There’s still so much left to do.”

Knoll sits again to resume his work, but finds he can hardly concentrate.


End file.
